


Hidden Grief

by JEAikman



Series: The Musketeers - prompts and one-shots [11]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, but platonic works best for this one, i never know whether to ship them or have them platonic, it seems these are my go-to tags for this pair.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/pseuds/JEAikman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all notice that d'Artagnan is acting strangely, but they don't know what to do about it, until Athos decides to find out just what is bothering their young friend</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Grief

Athos had come to notice that there was something... off about d'Artagnan's behaviour recently. He was quiet, subdued, none of his usual boisterous disposition and snarky comments. Come to think of it, they'd never had a quiet moment since d'Artagnan had joined their number. From the mess with Vadim to Bonnaire and the whole mess with his dead-but-not-dead wife to Marsac and the debacle with the Court of Miracles, none of them had been given much in the way of time to unwind. But for now, things were quiet, and there did not seem to be any impending disasters ready to topple king and country which they would need to defend against.

 

Usually, should such an opportunity arrive for them, Athos would take the reprieve to get as drunk - or drunker than humanly possible. Instead, he watched, with a bottle of wine he'd hardly touched, as his friends tried to coax the boy into joining in their conversation. It was subtle, but to Athos, it was obvious they were making a conscious effort to include d'Artagnan in their conversation. The boy just shook his head and made some mumbled excuses about not wanting to keep Madame Bonacieux up too late waiting for him to return - he didn't want to give her yet another reason to have him out on his ear. Something about that rang of falsehood to Athos, but Aramis just pouted and Porthos grumbled, and let the boy be on his way.

 

Athos now made his way to his companion's table, bottle still in hand, still mostly full, and sat down next to them.

"What is wrong with d'Artagnan these days?" He inquired of them, but both shook their heads, looking sadly in the direction in which their young friend had left.

"He looked in a melancholy way" Aramis mused with a sigh as he took a swig of his own tankard of ale.

"Do you think so? Perhaps then I should make an enquiry as to what troubles him." Athos stood, leaving the wine on the table for his friends to share as they pleased, but he was halted by Porthos's hand on his arm.

"He might not want you to pry, Athos. Maybe you should give the lad his privacy. He respects ours well enough." Athos bit back a retort - it would not do well for him to blurt out the secret of his wife's existence to them, in letting them know that d'Artagnan had already stripped down the walls he had built so long ago, and had held him at his most vulnerable, and still looked up to him in reverence and wonder - peppered with quiet understanding now. Because he knew. So Athos deserved to know what was bothering the boy. But he could not tell that to Porthos, so he sighed and placed his free hand over that of his friend.

 

"And yet I will go to him all the same. My mind is uneasy - d'Artagnan never acts thus. If he does not wish for my company I will not press it upon him, and yet I will offer it to him freely." Porthos nodded and let him go, satisfied with the answer. Aramis watched him with a sad smile.

"He was much like that for me after Marsac, actually. Always asked if I wanted company, always left if I said no. It helped, knowing that he was there. He never forced anything, he was just... there." He sighed. "He's a good lad, and I do hope he lets you help him with whatever it is he's going through right now." Porthos hummed in agreement, taking a swig of the wine that Athos had left on the table and then grimacing.

"That's disgusting." He said before adding, "Kid came around to apologize the other day- something about doubting me for a moment with the whole Court of Miracles debacle." Athos and Aramis shared a look, but Porthos continued. "Said I could hit him or whatever and he wouldn't lift a finger. But I couldn't do that - not when the same thought had run through my mind." The other two gripped a hand each, fiercely, to show that they had never doubted him for a second, before their thoughts turned back to their young friend.

"But why would he hide his own troubles from us like this, if he's always..." Athos rubbed his eyes with his hand. He was not drunk enough for this. "I'm going."

"Wait!" Aramis was the one to stop him this time. "Do you even know where he'll be? Because I doubt he went back to Madame Bonacieux, no matter what he told us." Athos frowned. No, the truth was he didn't know. But he knew where he could start.

"I'll find him, Aramis. But you two stay here, enjoy the rest of the night."

 

He let his feet take him on the path well worn into his memory - that which led to the Musketeer's garrison. He'd noticed that the boy always spent more time in the stables than them, caring for his own horse, rather than leaving the task up to the grooms. Originally, he had merely supposed it an odd quirk of a Gascon farmboy - but now he thought that perhaps there was a little more to it than that. After they'd returned from La Ferre, especially, the boy had spent a few days insisting that he properly groom his horse. Athos could have kicked himself - this was something he should have seen sooner.

 

He found him there, but he did not make his presence known. Instead, he opted to watch as d'Artagnan gave his mare a thorough brushing down.

"Hey old girl." He said as she nuzzled his pocket, "No treats today I'm afraid, but you'll just have to put up with me anyway. You're good at that, aren't you, old lass? I could say anything to you, tell you anything, and you'd not judge. You'd never tell a soul. And I can't talk to the others, not really." He paused, the comb caught on a particularly stubborn knot in her mane. "I don't want to bother them, see. They all have enough to worry about as it is." Athos listened in to the young man's monologue as he continued to work the knot out of the horse's hair. "What have I got worth complaining about that isn't worse for them, anyway - Aramis had to kill his friend, Athos had to kill his wife but couldn't stay and watch so she's alive and trying to kill him, and Porthos grew up on the streets." The mare nuzzled him affectionately, as if sensing her master's distress. "Do you ever miss Gascony, Petal? Do you ever miss the farm. Because... I don't know if I do or not. I should go back, get everything in order. I told uncle I'd be there next month, he's looking after it until then - but I don't know if I can. I don't know if I can face it. Not without father there. God. Even now, I just, I think of the farm and all I can see is him. But he's gone now, old girl, and there's just you and me now." He sighed, his voice cracking as he said the next words, tears dripping from his chin onto the horse's mane. "There's nothing left in Gascony for me now."

 

"So stay in Paris." Athos interupted, and d'Artagnan stood bolt upright with such a shocked face that the older man almost felt guilty. Almost. Before the Gascon could move away, he wiped away a tear with a gloved hand. "There is no shame in grieving your father, lad. I'm sure he was a good man."

"The best" d'Artagnan agreed, his voice shaky and raw. "He taught me how to use a sword." He half smiled at a memory just come to the surface, and blinked back more tears. Athos put an arm around him and ushered him out of the stable.

 

"Forgive me, Petal, but I must borrow your master and challenge him to drink me under the table. You look shinier than polished boots, might I add." The horse snorted and he could almost imagine she understood him. "By the way... Petal?"  d'Artagnan just shrugged.

"Her mother was called Buttercup. My sister named them." Athos raised an eyebrow.

"I did not know you had a sister."

"She disappeared, six years ago. We never heard a word, so..." Athos stared at him in shock, as he concluded "we assumed that she... that-" He stopped as he was pulled into a hug. Athos smelt of sweat and leather and comfort and warmth, and d'Artagnan fell into the hug and started sobbing - great, ugly, heaving sobs, and Athos just held him through it. "I miss them, Athos. I miss them so much." Athos shushed him and made soothing motions on his back with his hand. "Why are they gone, Athos? Why are they gone when I'm still here?"Athos's hold on him grew tighter when he heard the lost desperation in the boy's voice, and was reminded of his youth - how young he was to have all his family thus torn from him.

"I asked myself the same question, so many times, lad." He admitted into the top of d'Artagnan's head. "But lad - _I'm here_. As long as you need me. And if you don't want me to tell the others, fine - but they're worried about you." _And so was I_ went unspoken, but d'Artagnan heard it all the same.

"I know, I'm sorry." He spoke into the older man's chest, still not ready to meet his gaze, and feeling slightly ashamed at having broken down so thoroughly in front of the man he most respected and admired. But Athos just pulled him to his feet and wiped his cheeks clean of tears.

"Come on now, lad. I think you've earned a drink or two." And with that, he dragged him back to where Aramis and Porthos waited for them, who were now playing cards. They looked from d'Artagnan to Athos, and saw the small nod of the head that meant whatever it was had been sorted out for now, that they didn't need to worry, so they decided to let it lie, for now. They didn't miss the red eyes or the sad looks he sometimes had - reminding them, almost terrifyingly of Athos. But once they've got warm drink in his belly and include him in their game, they could almost forget that he'd been acting differently at all. Almost, but not quite.

**Author's Note:**

> The whole thing with the sister is kind of based on a dream I had (she's not dead but she worked in the La Ferre mansion, and helped Thomas to find out about Milady's past. Milady tries to kill her as well so she runs away but when she returns the Count has left and she has no way of knowing where he went. But five years later, she ends up in Paris again (it was a pretty epic dream) but she didn't want to put her family in danger so she let them think she was dead.
> 
> And this fic was a pain to write. i kept getting 500 or so words done and then just completely conking out. I had next to no inspiration. But here it is, and I'm currently working on another two, so those should be done soon. Maybe later tonight, or tomorrow, depending on whether or not I can still function after ARAMIS AND THE BABY


End file.
